


Book On the Basketball Court

by Lorrol



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Multi, No Sex, Non-Sexual Age Play, Nonbinary Character, Other, Sharing a Bed, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29865792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorrol/pseuds/Lorrol
Summary: He wonders how long he was tradeable for a job.He wonders how long it will take to be forgiven.And she wonders how much misery she caused.
Relationships: Cece Palmer & Jackson Saito, Cece Palmer/Olsen Nowens, Cece Palmer/Zwella Hickens, Dave Wells/Jackson Saito, Kevin Hickens/Connor Vim, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)





	Book On the Basketball Court

**Author's Note:**

> Hi !! I pretty much started on something and felt the need to post it, so here you go !! The characters in this story are all original and do not belong to a fandom.

His hands roamed over the expanse of melancholy skin, and he gripped-scrambled-at sunken eyes and pointy cheekbones, holding tight and leaving crescent fingernail prints in his wake. A hand trailed down his side, deft and shaky, and chipped nails scraped his already reddened flesh, and he could feel the desperation in their hands. He gulped raggedly, working his hands up to brush the hair out of their eyes, only to feel their hands scratch at the back of his ears and massage his nape. 

  


“I want to go home,” he places his forehead against theirs’, “ _ I want to go home, Jackson. _ ”

  


Jackson only stares at him, bringing one hand down from his nape and placing on his side, “Then let’s go home.”

  


The walk -more of a stumble- home is nothing eventful, nothing fateful, cliché happens, it’s all just blurred streetlights and heavy, brain-prodding steps. Jackson’s front door is locked, and they stand outside it for a few more minutes before the idea to walk a couple blocks down to Cece’s house arises. The sidewalk is a murky tan, chalky grey maybe, parts of it being painted a brown hue as the punch-soaked bottoms of their shoes dance across it. 

  


Dave stumbles over his own feet, as well as one of Jackson’s, his legs twisting in an awkward shape yet forming a shape almost akin to scribbles. He begins sputtering as hands grip his waist, calming down when he realizes that Jackson was holding him up, palms wide but his fingers thin. He mumbles something along the lines of thanks, and Jackson nods, moving his hands to wrap around Dave’s shoulders. 

  


Jackson’s hands were cold on his shoulders, and punch lined his finger tips, leaving the white of his suit sleeves a bitter, bristling red, almost a dirty orange with the way it snuck past the barrier of his clothing and pressed moisture into his skin. It makes him shiver, unpleasantly yet pleasantly, and he wraps a twitching hand over his mouth, the rise of bile in his throat making him hunch over and fall to his knees. He blinks small tears from his eyes, and uses Jackson’s arm to pull himself up. 

  
  
  


Cece’s home is a washed-down purple as they climb the vibrant, newly-painted brown stairs. Knocking isn’t necessary as the door is wide open, four other drunk bastards sitting on the steps and leaning against the door frame. Pushing past them, Jackson pulls Dave by his arm through a crowd, actively avoiding the middle of it. They reach a narrow hallway, and Jackson pulls him down to the last door on the right, its’ white paint chipping. 

  


They fall against the bed in a heap, their legs tangled. Jackson reaches his arm under Dave, before curling it back around Dave’s waist. There’s a physical reaction, Dave circling his arm around over Jackson, and it’s enough to make Jackson want to cry as he places his forehead against Dave’s, his lips trembling. Dave stares back at him, before pressing their noses together and closing his eyes. 

  


“We should kiss,” Dave starts, his breath fanning across Jackson’s lips, “so we can remember this.” 

  


“Is that an excuse?” Jackson smiles, his teeth white and his breath the smell of punch and liquor.

  


Dave only grins, knowing the proposal was ludicrous; using his arms, he pulls Jackson closer to him, and Jackson does the same in turn. Dave finally opens his eyes, only to see that Jackson has closed his own eyes, and he grins wider. He pulls himself closer, and Jackson’s eyes open, and they burst into mellow, insistent laughter. 

  


As a loud crack goes through the house and they quiet down, the others outside whoop and screech in drunkenness and bliss. Glancing at the door and looking back at Dave, Jackson smiles at the end of his laughter, and scoots closer. 

  


Their lips brush, and it doesn’t count as a peck or a kiss from how soft and barely they touched, but Dave takes it as both and pushes forward, his lips clumsily smashing against Jackson’s. His eyes squeeze tight, tears springing and wetting his lashes. They drip down his face, and he wants to wipe them away but there are deft fingers wiping them away. Blood rushes to his face, hot and fulfilling; he pulls and grips Jackson’s back, trying to touch, feel, hold, and maybe merge. 

  


He wants their skin to collide, to slip together and become one. He wants to offset any flaws of Jackson with his and vice versa; he needed their skin to grotesquely twist and bend till the flesh beneath gave way, letting their bones connect and rebuild. To curve in and squeeze until it got too tight and became nothing, except space, except them. 

  


His eyes open after what feels like hours, and his hands shake as he raises his hands to Jackson’s hair, pulling back and breathing deeply. He ducks his head down, shuffling under Jackson’s chin and breathing almost wildly. Hands idly stroked his back, dry but a small sliver of dampness from the tears they had wiped. He chuckles, remembering how  _ long  _ it had taken them to get to this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember you're valid and deserve the world !! drink water, love you xoxo


End file.
